Then Again
by wordsinwinters
Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathalon trip, Peter and the Reader must examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. Updates on Fridays, but feedback/comments required for continued postings.
1. Chapter 1

Living in New York City rarely feels as glamorous as the movies and aesthetic blogs make it seem. Most days, that _lively hustle and bustle_ of our beautiful, always dreaming city reminds me of a horde of flies conducting emergency drills underwater. Especially on foggy days. And muggy days. And Mondays, Tuesdays, occasionally Wednesdays. However, the almost-weekend to weekend days that sprinkle in refreshing breezes alongside bright sunshine - those days pull you up by the back of your collar and shove optimism down your shirt like it's a cool, wet towel. The city tingles from the ground up.

Today is one of those good days.

Ironically, I woke up exhausted. I nearly spilled my breakfast in my lap (but didn't, thanks to Peter) and I walked with my three best friends to school through fields of exhaust fumes half-awake. Once there, however, it all seemed to turn around. The classes I attended went wonderfully and the classes I didn't attend, I'll assume went just as well. I skipped half of them for the first time in my life.

Besides occasional "homework sharing," I rarely break rules, it's just that Ned and Michelle can be extremely persuasive… not that I needed much persuasion today. The suggestion was enough. I've been so giddy this week that I embraced the tiny taste of teenage rebellion with open arms. ("Tiny" seems like an appropriate description: all we did was hide out in random parts of the school watching Vines, playing minor pranks in the hallways during breaks, and stealing food from Peter's stash of locker snacks as payback for his refusal to join us.)

Today has been a great day, and outside of Peter acting a bit strange, it's been a good week overall. It's just so easy to be happy with everything going on. Tonight: special dinner with our friends. Tomorrow: Midtown's academic decathlon team heads to Washington, D.C. Shortly after, my friends and I will attend homecoming, go on summer break, and enter our senior year of high school. My anticipation for this trip, the dance, the summer, and our eventual graduation bubbles up inside my stomach anytime the conversation between me and two of my best friends takes a short dip as we walk back from school.

Despite all of the upcoming things I have to think about, this walk is making my thoughts drift back to the one topic I've been trying most to avoid. Why wouldn't Peter sneak out of class? _He isn't always such a rule follower anymore. And then why leave seventh hour when we all have class together? Is it just a today thing? He's seemed… off all week._

I needed to stop thinking about him. Wondering why he's been strangely reserved or else imagining the previous seven hours with him more present in their events is not going to help me keep our friendship normal. _Just think about something else. Anything else. Even someone else._

"Should we invite Flash?" I ask. I ask this partly because it's a question nobody has brought up yet, and partly because the conversation has certainly dipped and my brain wants to sprint away from my control. I even thought I saw Spidey a minute ago. By now he's on the other side of Queens. _Think of something else._

We stop on the sidewalk, traffic rushing in front of us, countless buzzing people behind everywhere else.

Ned and Michelle turn to me with matching expressions.

"And why would we do that?" Ned asks.

"Because every-"

"Oh, shit." Michelle groans. "Because everyone else, bar Mr. Harrington, is going. The entire team except Flash. For being so smart, we're all a bunch of fucking idiots."

"Technically we don't _have_ to do anything," Ned says, obviously resistant to the idea. "It isn't an official team dinner or whatever. We can't get in trouble for it."

"Still, as captain, I can't organize a social gathering with everyone but Flash and pretend it isn't a shitty thing to do. God damn it."

The walk signal turns white as Michelle starts a text to Flash. Peter's apartment is only a few blocks away.

Once we reach the door, Ned knocks. We all know Peter and May won't be in, but Ned has a habit of politeness that even that few things can shake. After a couple seconds, he unlocks it himself with one of the five total keys to the apartment. (Strictly speaking, May isn't supposed to have had three extra copies made, but she wouldn't be May if she paid mind to that rule.)

"So," Michelle says, heaving her bookbag into a chair. "Music and clean, then Netflix and chill?"

The three of us look around at the destruction our last night of studying brought the apartment. Snacks and dishes are strewn in odd places and our fallen pillow fort is a ruin. A sticky 5 Hour Energy must have splashed on the carpet at some point, given the pink stain to the right of the couch. Coating most of the colossal mess are countless pieces of scribbled-on paper.

Ned and I nod in agreement.

Michelle's speaker beeps awake and we set to work.

As I gather garbage, I let the music fill up my skull. I imagine confetti raining down inside of it, each piece sparkling with tiny letters that read: _It's just one of those good days._

The only thing that could make this day better would be the presence of Peter and May Parker. But then again, Peter ducked out of last hour, I suppose to get a head start on his "internship" (he's never done that before though, so the irony of his skipping part of Psych and not any other classes did not slide by unnoticed by Michelle or Ned either) and May has… a job, a hobby? I really don't know. Wherever they are and whatever they're doing, I can't help wishing they were home.

May returns around 5 p.m. As usual, she is unsurprised to find us watching Netflix. Over the last couple weeks, we took study breaks by picking out a lighthearted show and making questions from an episode. Today is an exclusively no-studying day, but we can't help continuing the mini-tradition while we marathon Friends.

"Ah, the Studying-Not-Studying game."

May walks over smiling, her arms crossed.

"It's a vital healing process for our near-fatally strained brains," I joke.

A phone buzzes.

"Wait, Miss MJ! You can't answer that text until you answer my question for this episode. Were they," May says, "or were they not," she pauses, "on a break?"

"Oh god, no," I plead. "Please, _please_ , don't start this again! Ned and MJ argued about this for twenty minutes before you got here!"

"Okay, but Rachel _did_ say-" Ned begins.

"Oh my god, Ned! We talked about this!"

Michelle begins explaining with her hands and May grins, walking into the kitchen. Feinting defeat, I put my head in my hands and sink into the couch cushion. Slumped, I take out my own phone. Nothing.

I text Peter.

"Still good for 7:30?"

 _Whoosh._ And now the waiting game begins. Actually, it began at 3:00 p.m. when I sent the first of a dozen messages. But none of them were questions, so an answer wasn't necessary.

"Hey MJ," I say. "What was that text you got?"

Michelle and Ned halt, hands frozen in expressionistic flight.

"Let's see." She flips her phone over. "It's from Flash."

Ned clasps his hands together.

"Dear merciful God," he prays. "Please, please, let MJ read us a rejection text from Eugene 'Flash' Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy."

We made up that nickname today while cutting fourth hour. Not quite eloquent, but to the point. Plus, it's almost impossible to say seven times fast. (We made a game of trying.)

Michelle types a quick response and takes a breath, placing her hand on Ned's shoulder.

"Prepare yourself for something dreadful, Ned." She hangs her head. "Eugene 'Flash' Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy is… 'super doped out' to accept our invitation."

"God damn it."

"Kids!" May calls from the kitchen. "Hasn't anyone ever told you to watch your language?"


	2. Chapter 2

I hate the waiting game.

It is by far my least favorite game to play with Peter. QuizUp, Kahoots, Monopoly, How-Many-Arguments-Can-We-Start-Between-Ned-and-MJ-In-A-Day, Charades, and Scrabble are all entertaining games to play with him. The waiting game, however, is grey and bland. Moreover, it makes me feel paranoid and clingy. Both paranoid and clingy, yet simultaneously doubtful of how valid those two emotions can be, given the circumstances. It's a draining game of mental tennis. On one side of the court: _I'm being - and coming across as - so clingy_. On the other: _My emotions are justified reactions that anyone would have in this situation, not knowing if their friend is okay_. _Peter probably knows that too._ Trying to decipher which is true and which is false only leads me to bounce back and forth between those two sides for hours. Until Peter responds. Then it all goes away.

The stress of the waiting game always manifests as an itch on my right index finger.

Most days that itch only somewhat bothers me - but today, of course, isn't most days. It's been a wonderful, sunny day that everyone (but Flash) has been planning for over a month. Like the city, it might not be glamorous, but it's ours and it's meant to be special.

I mean, even Peter has been excited about this from the start, all the way up to today. Despite being somewhat of a recluse this week.

At this point, my finger is red and burning. Peter hasn't answered my texts, Michelle's ironically professional emails, or Ned's dozen calls. It's 7:15 p.m.

Michelle thought it best to arrive early, so the three - rather than four - of us await the rest of the team at a large table in a decently busy restaurant.

I open my messages. Nothing.

"We're already here, btw."

 _Whoosh_. I close them. Ned glances at my phone.

"Tell him if he's later than 8, I'll rat him out to Aunt May. She told him this morning that he should skip his 'Starky stuff' and just hang out with everybody today. I don't think she was too happy when she got home and saw he wasn't there."

I hadn't heard May say anything to Peter this morning. Then again, I _had_ fallen asleep at the table. (Michelle kept kneeing me on the couch all night - the reason I barely slept.) And when Peter woke me up because the cereal bowl I was cradling threatened to fall, May didn't even make a joke about it. _Did_ they have an argument?

"Earth to Y/N?" Ned waved his hand in front of my face. "Daydreaming about Spider-Man again?"

On the bright side, Peter isn't here to hear that. Ned's been making a lot of weird comments like that today. It's not helping the fact I feel so paranoid. _How would Ned know? And why so suddenly?_

"Very funny. I'll text him."

I open my messages again.

"You and May okay? Ned says he'll tell her you bailed if you don't get here by 8. Don't shoot the messenger."

A few minutes later, the waiter brings a tray of waters. Two minutes more and he leads Abe, Cindy, Sally, and unexpectedly, Betty, the blonde newsgirl, non-decathlon member, to the table.

A round of "Hello!"'s are exchanged.

"It's cool if Betty joins us, right?" Sally asks. "We all kind of met up on our way here and she was about to pass by, so we thought it'd be alright?"

"Of course," Michelle says. Her nails drum the table. Our little code.

"Absolutely," I add. "Ned was just saying we should have invited you, Betty!"

Ned thinks he can keep a secret. But he can't. I've noticed him staring at her in seventh hour and Michelle is far too perceptive to miss it. With me, Michelle, Peter, and Flash all being in that class, you'd think he might make an effort to be less obvious.

 _Have I been obvious? Is that why Ned's been making those jokes today? But why today? I barely even saw Peter today, let alone while Ned was there._

"Really? Thank you! I didn't want to intrude on the team before you guys left or anything."

Her smile is genuine. I suppress a laugh as Ned's ears twinge red and he struggles for a cool way to play along.

"Yeah, totally. I mean, you should go with us to D.C. It'd be totally cool."

"And totally against the rules," Cindy points out, frowning. "Don't get me wrong, it would be cool, but Mr. Harrington doesn't let anyone outside of the team come. Trust me, I-"

 _BEEEEEEP!_ A horn blares outside. Once. Twice. Thrice. The third blast holds for ten seconds, minimum.

A waitress, her arms full of hot plates, glares out the window she's now blocking. I have a guess as to which car in all of New York it is, though. Nevertheless, the scent of freshly baked salmon, wild rice, chocolate, and something lemony from the plates is making my mouth water. _Hurry up, Parker. Even Flash is on time._

"I predict," Abe says, "Flash will walk through those doors in approximately sixty seconds."

Everyone watches the clock, all knowing it's undoubtably him.

Sixty seconds later, Flash strides in.

"You know," he announces, pulling off his _the price of this could buy Ned a new gaming console_ jacket, "in this world, there are the Have's and the Have-Not's. And the Have-Not's are real dicks to any Have's with a worthwhile car."

Michelle immediately starts to speak.

"No need to go off on a spiel, O Captain, Our Captain," he mocks. "I know, I know. Rich people, poor people, power structures, etcetera etcetera. Don't get your braids in a knot."

"Are-"

"Oh my god! It's not a race thing! Chill out. It's literally because you're wearing braids today. Not everything means something, you know!"

 _He's barely sat down and he's already trying his best to pick a fight._ The consistency of it borders on comforting. In a strange, stupid way, Flash is dependable.

"Freud would beg to differ," says a voice to my left.

I'm surprised for the second time in the last ten minutes. Peter didn't bail.

I feel my pulse jump as he runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. I hate myself for it. He slides into the booth to take the table's last seat beside me. Oddly, he doesn't say hello or acknowledge me at all. Then again, he's been odd all week.

 _Does Ned know something? Did he tell Peter? Does Peter feel awkward about me now?_

I try to shake myself of these thoughts. Ned _can't_ know anything. I haven't said a thing to anyone. It has to be something else. It has to be.

"Yeah, well," Flash says, affronted. "Freud wasn't a real psychologist anyway. What's his work got to offer? It's not even valid."

Everyone races into the topic at once, drowning out the restaurant's gentle music.

Moments like this make me fall in love with friends all over again. My best friends are talking passionately with their hands, their individual mannerisms and voices blending together like warm colors and soft city sounds. My other friends (or teammates, however you would label it) are bouncing points and ideas from each person to the next like an inflatable beach ball, never stumbling over one another.

For once, I sit back and soak up the moment. Admittedly, Freud is a subject I would rarely pass up, but I'm too relieved at the turn-out to think. Everyone showed up. Everyone is getting along. (As much as ever.) Rather than participate in the aggressive bonding of our group, I smile, listen, and laugh, trying to convince myself things with Peter are fine. _This is the perfect night for an almost perfect day, don't overthink it._

I take a moment to admire the restaurant. It's one Abe suggested. The room is deep red, the hanging lights emit a delicate glow, and for the sake of minimalistic elegance, gold flecks are painted to sprinkle down the walls from the ceiling. It's such a small detail I almost miss it. Other tables are talking and joking, silverware clanging and plates steaming. It smells like a fresh bakery impregnated with a vegetable garden and a smokehouse.

Mouth watering again, I notice Flash is the only one looking at a menu. He's gotten to the "I don't care about this topic anymore" stage of his argument. I don't want to interrupt anyone, so I pick up my menu as well. Maybe someone else will catch on and one by one we'll come back down to Earth.

"Yes it does!" Peter shouts beside me.

Maybe not.

"You can't bring that up without discussing the one thing that _clearly_ directly correlates his childhood to that thesis!" Peter says. I suddenly realize he's seriously into this argument. The point he's making is one of my own though, so it gives me a short flutter of pride. I know he listens to me and to everyone else, but it's satisfying to have it confirmed, to know, with evidence, that we learn from each other. "Right, Ned?"

Peter turns from Flash to me to Ned. In the half-second they're directed at me, his eyes shine with anger. My gut drops. Peter never gets angry, not like this, not at me.

"Yeah," Ned says slowly, "but Y/N gets this better than I do. Didn't you say-?"

Peter whips back to Flash.

"My point is-"

Ned gives me a questioning look, head tilted.

Peter is less than a foot to my left, but I take out my phone anyway. He's too deep into the argument to notice and I can't ignore whatever is going on anymore. I message Ned and Michelle.

"Peter mad at me for something?"

 _Whoosh._

The waiter returns to the table.

"Anyone ready to order?" he says, pen and paper pad in hand.

"I am," Flash affirms immediately. "I'll have the-"

"We'll need a few minutes," I say. Nobody picked up the menu hint.

The waiter nods and leaves with a smile.

"Okay, children," Michelle says. "Let's be quiet for a couple minutes and focus at the task at hand. Everyone have their menus? Excellent. I'm so proud. Ready. Set. Go!"

The table as a whole seems fine. Everyone here takes debating as entertainment and few topics result in any real disagreements. (Well, we get over them quickly, at least.)

Across the table, Abe points at his favorite dish as a suggestion for Cindy. Everyone else is calmly reading the first page.

Except Peter. Peter's mouth is screwed up in mute irritation. In truth, it's hard to take him seriously with that expression. It looks like he's trying to hide something in there. _Just a couple secrets, no big deal._ I consider whispering a joke to him about it to lighten the mood. I deflect the thought immediately; I doubt it would work right now.

 _Ding! Ding!_

My phone. Peter huffs. I switch it to silent.

MJ: "He's acting weird. Maybe it's about May? They got into an argument in her room while you were cuddling your Fruity Pebbles."

"About what?"

 _Whoosh._

 _Bzz._

MJ: "I couldn't hear. Kind of pissed me off. I have no idea. Ned?"

I glance up. Michelle has built a house out of her and Abe's menu since he's looking at Cindy's. Her phone must be hidden inside like an Easter egg.

Ned, like me, hasn't put that kind of effort into covering up our gossiping. He's scanning the menu, but texting under the table.

 _Bzz._

Ned: "I heard 1: time management 2: friendly-at-home-occasionally Peter Parker 3. Y/N might"

Me?

"I might what?"

 _Whoosh._

Ned: "I cnat believe i typed that without any mistakes not looking. and idk. those were just the words i cauhgt."

MJ: "Ironic, Ned."

I sneak a peek at Peter. He lifts an eyebrow. I'm not sure if it's a reaction to something on the menu or if he knows I'm trying to analyze him through my peripheral vision. Either way, I give up on both the analysis and the texts.


	3. Chapter 3

Aside from Peter's obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament… and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we're eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard "shoe string" as "g-string" during the "Lost and Found" pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone's, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

"Seriously? That's so old!" (It was only two months ago.) Flash can't let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he's mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn't seem like such an asshole. "And you shouldn't laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!"

I raise an eyebrow.

"Me? What about first grade?" I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. "Oh…. That about first grade."

 _Of course he remembers._ My face is changing colors, I know it is.

"Are you blushing?" Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can't believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn't mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again. _Damn you, Flash._

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

"Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me," Flash says, "an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And _boy_ did she."

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an _I won_ smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

 _Screw you, Flash._

"You did not," Michelle says in disbelief. "You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?"

"Hold on!" I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. "Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don't think I won't bring up the fact _you_ _liked_ _me_ , not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn't like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher _two months ago!_ "

"That's so not how the fairytales go, Y/N," Ned mutters. "Was your childhood okay?"

"You thought he was a frog?" Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

"Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a _child_. You can't make fun of me for something I did at six years old."

"Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?"

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red. _I never thought he would look at me like this._ Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it's like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

 _What_ was _the kiss like?_

I pause.

"Dirt," I say. _Make this funny again_. "Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with _dirt_."

Laughter erupts again. _Thank God._ Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little "today" high.

* * *

We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and "See you in the morning!"'s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

"So lame that Mr. Harrington won't let us bring non-team members," Ned's saying. "He's always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just… I don't know." He stumbles for words. "Like, kill him or something."

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

"You know," he hurries, "as, like, a prank."

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

" _Totally._ I'll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?"

"Yeah! If I'm not in jail for murder, you know?"

Now they're both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I'm so glad Betty came. I'm thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

"I hope you're ready to lose a seventh hour buddy," she whispers.

"Nah. I'll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn't wreck it."

"Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment."

"Per car, you mean."

"Exactly. I think Ned can handle it."

"This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don't follow the tracks you're laying down."

"Those are terrible puns and you know it."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase _I love my friends_ should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He's waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

"You saw what you saw," he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best "cool guy" attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which… though tense, didn't seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

"You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually… not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame."

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I'm not that surprised. (I'm kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

"You're wel-"

"Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago," Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. "And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago."

Everyone freezes.

"Cool," Flash says. "Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker."

* * *

Peter doesn't speak a word as we walk back to his and May's apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he's been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

"You guys staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," says Ned with the tone of _obviously._

"Do you want us to go home?" I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

 _What is going on in Spider Town?_

"Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks."

"The couch is fine," I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us _wanting_ to be there. "MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge."

Michelle nods. "But if you try to spoon me _even once_ , I'm going to roll over and crush you."

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he's genuinely pissing me off. He's acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. _If anything, he's making Flash look like a better friend._

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

"Hey, I'll be right back. Don't steal my spot."

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, "Don't thteal my thpot." I take them out.

 _Maybe I can end this on a good note._

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter's door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

"Ned," I whisper from the doorway. "Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I'll have to testify against you. And I don't want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?"

"Oh my goddd," Ned groans. "I…. I still have no idea why I said that."

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn't. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

"I know," I say. "Goodnight!"

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned's reply and Peter's quiet, "Yeah."

 _Who says "Yeah" to a "Goodnight"?_

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I'm either going to hug him or kill him.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up to brown eyes in the almost-dark. (I've imagined this in a slightly different context a hundred times by now.)

Peter's lightly shaking me awake. And Michelle, by default, who smacks him away. Despite former promises not to cuddle her, I must have latched on at some point last night, like always. The fact that I'm not on the floor is another reason I love Michelle. For all her tough talk, she's as soft as a pillow. Actually, that's not completely true. Michelle is the fiercest person I know - when the stakes are higher than sleeping arrangements.

I detangle myself from her and smile at Peter, hoping today is different.

Peter smiles back. It's small, but it's there.

"Shower open?" I whisper.

"Yeah. When did MJ want to get up? Aunt May said she'll make pancakes once everyone is awake."

I squint at the clock. 6:13 a.m.

"7. But she'll settle for 6:45 if she smells food."

Peter nods. My eyes adjust a bit and I force myself up, into the hallway, and around to the bathroom. At the door, I hear May and Ned talking quietly in Peter's room. If I were less tired, I might eavesdrop. But I'm not. Ned will probably tell me anyway.

During my slightly too-long shower, I try my best to stop thinking about Peter and last night and his eyes before the dirt comment and this morning and the thousands of impossible future scenarios that would link those moments together under more favorable conditions. For months now, I've spent most of my time thinking about Peter Parker and how I need to stop thinking about Peter Parker. Again, endlessly, it doesn't work.

After pancakes, May drives us to the school where the bus and rest of the team wait. She hugs each of us individually, wishing us luck and reminding us to keep her updated by texts and calls.

"I know how competitive all of you are," May says with a smile, "but remember that this trip is a chance to have fun and act like real teenagers for a few days."

Her smile relaxes as she looks pointedly to Peter.

"Okay? Just remember the stuff we talked about. Be a little more adventurous."

"More adventurous?" Peter asks. "Are you sure?"

May's hands go to her hips.

"You know exactly what I mean. And I'm going to check up on things. Count on that."

This seems soaked in subtext, though I have no idea what sort. I should talk to Ned.

"Alright kids, come back in one last time."

May binds us all into a group hug before kissing our foreheads. I maneuver to the end of the line for this one (least amount of forehead lipstick). Ned gets it worst, Peter plenty, and Michelle a smudge. Hopefully I have nothing.

May must realize this, because she musses up my hair afterward and laughs.

"I'm going to force Peter to do that every night while you guys are away. How will you kids survive without a full balance of Parker love?"

Peter starts to say something in an exasperated tone as his cheeks turn pink but she shakes her head and laughs again. At the same time, I try to suppress the color I feel tickling my neck. If Peter ever kissed my forehead and then did that to my hair….

"I'm only half serious. Totally serious - but anyway, I love you guys and I'll be here when you come back!"

We walk to the bus where Mr. Harrington and the rest of the team are talking. Peter, Michelle, and I try to discreetly wipe our foreheads with our sleeves.

"Ned? You've got… a lot," I say, gesturing.

He smiles.

"I know."

"Oh come on, man," Peter says. "Seriously?"

Mr. Harrington counts each member of the team and passes around a sign-up sheet before we can step onto the bus. As the last three of us approach the door, Flash taps Peter's shoulder.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing above Peter's eyes to the circle of smudged red. As Peter opens his mouth, Flash nails his forehead with the heel of his hand. "What? Somebody already do that?"

Without thinking, I jam my knee into the back of Flash's leg. He falls with the most unflattering huh-yuht sound I've ever heard as he hits his head on the bus door. My heart is racing.

What just happened?

Peter pauses, his mouth in a tight line. He steps over Flash and onto the bus. At the top of the stairs, he turns and waits for me. Flash stands up and tries to play it cool.

"I get it. Making me eat dirt. You wanna recreate some childhood memories?"

I notice the red mark now on his forehead, a mirror of Peter's. I can't think of anything to say. I'm still processing the fact that he actually hit Peter. And that nobody on the bus saw it, judging by the lack of Mr. Harrington's voice. I could kill him. I could really kill him.

I shove Flash out of my way and go to sit with my friends. I can't believe him.

* * *

Michelle being chosen as our captain is the best thing to happen to our team. Particularly because Mr. Harrington lets her arrange which rooms all of us sleep in as a privilege.

The list goes:

MJ and Y/N Peter and Ned Cindy and Sally  
Abraham and Eugene.

(Anytime she writes our names down for anything, she always writes "Eugene" instead of "Flash." He has made many public protests about it.)

Our room is right next to Ned and Peter's. And at the opposite end of the hall from Mr. Harrington. If we're too loud or if we stay up too late, the chance of being caught is slim. (Not that we would ever stay up late enough to compromise the competition… just a little after curfew. The following night we'll stay awake until some time in the morning.)

Now that the half tense (me, Peter, and Flash), half friendly (everyone else) team bus ride is over, MJ and I get to unpack. But first I need to tell her about what happened earlier.

"Flash hit Peter," I blurt.

"What do you mean?"

"He made a comment about the mark from May's lipstick and he hit him. Just-!"

I make the motion with my hand.

"Are you serious? Why didn't you guys say anything to Mr. Harrington? Or me or Ned? I'm team captain, I could have-"

"Because," I rush, "Peter acted like it didn't happen and when he didn't say anything, I got a feeling he might get angry with me if I did and yesterday was so awful. I think he wants this year's trip to be normal, you know, compared to last year? I just had no idea what he wanted me to do."

Michelle takes a breath.

"So, you did nothing?"

"I mean, I kind of got Flash back for it? He hit the door with his head and got the wind knocked out of him."

That's not enough, I know. Talking about it has me worked up again. I could kill him. I'm sure Michelle feels the same way, given her current expression.

"Ask Peter about it," she suggests. "If he says drop it, we drop it. If he says anything else, we go from there."

I nod. Slowly we begin to unpack.

Drawers are being opened and closed as we both turn to each other at the same time and say the same thing:

"I could kill Flash."


	5. Chapter 5

If I said that this was the worst week, and that yesterday was the worst day, of my life, I would be an absolute idiot. Of course it isn't. But it does suck. It sucks a lot. A lot, a lot. The last few months have been pretty awful, but for some reason, this has been the worst week of them.

Y/N is just so happy. It's driving me nuts.

I blame it mostly on Halloween. If Halloween hadn't happened the way it did, maybe everything would be different and the other things would matter less.

That night, Y/N and I were supposed to meet MJ and Ned at Ned's apartment before going to Betty's party. (Ned forced us into it, I didn't really want to go in the first place.)

Anyway, Y/N came to my apartment first so we could walk to Ned's together. Just as I answered the door, MJ sent something to our group snapchat. The little popcorn sound echoed between us as I let Y/N inside. I pulled out my phone.

"It's from MJ," I said, opening it.

MJ, dressed as someone from the 1700s judging by the bonnet, was perched on the back of Ned's couch and holding a whip outside an open window; Ned was in the background, running toward her from the hallway. He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume and his signature Don't you dare, MJ! face.

I laughed.

"Look, MJ's already tormenting Ned with his own costume," I said, showing Y/N the picture before it disappeared.

"What?"

She looked at the screen and froze.

"It's a costume party?"

I thought she knew, especially since Ned talked about it so much. I hadn't planned a costume, but that's because I was hoping if I showed up to Ned's without one, he might tell me not to come at all. I guess it made sense though. I'd been wondering all week what she was planning to wear. I thought I even asked her at one point. Maybe not. Yeah. I wouldn't have wanted her to think I was being weird.

"It's not a big deal. I don't have a costume either."

She groaned.

"No, I should've paid more attention to Ned when he told me about it. I've been so… so out of it and distracted lately, and I can't let him down like this. I know how much it means to him. I told him just an hour ago that I was completely ready for tonight. I can't believe myself."

I tried to console her a bit, make jokes and lighten the mood. But she was kind of right. Ned had been talking about it a lot and she had seemed pretty distracted the last couple weeks. Plus, we only had an hour before we needed to leave.

I remember wishing May were home. She would know how to help. But she must've been busy because she didn't answer any of my texts.

As Y/N beat herself up for being unprepared, she kept pacing and wringing her hands. Then, she stopped.

"I always told myself I would never ask this," she said slowly, "but Peter, can I… try on the suit?"

I always told myself I would never let my friends try the suit on. I didn't want it to get complicated. I mean, once you get a hang of the suit, it's kind of addicting.

In that moment though, I wanted to let her. She tends to get stressed when she isn't one hundred percent on top of things and this was definitely one of those times. I thought it would help distract her while I came up with costume ideas. And maybe another reason I didn't want to admit to myself yet.

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I let you try it out?"

She shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging upward. I smiled immediately, like a reflex. I could tell she was getting excited. Weirdly, I felt excited too. I told myself it was a reaction to feeling helpful.

"I just thought Ned said something about it once. Like you were overprotective of it or whatever."

"Pff, no way." I tried to be nonchalant. "Ned is always saying crazy things."

That wasn't true and we both knew it. Awkward things, occasionally. Crazy, not so much.

I dug the suit out of my bag and tossed it to her.

While I waited out in the living room for her to change, I heard a sharp thud from my room. I ran to the door.

"Uh, you okay in there?"

An oomf later, she replied, "Yeah. I just tripped a little. The suit's fine! Hit my funny bone, that's all."

I let out a sigh of relief. Not for the suit, obviously. It can take a beating.

A minute later, she called my name. Her voice carried a distinct… reluctance.

Outside the door again, I offered up a, "Yeah?"

I know, I know. I'm an idiot.

"Um, how exactly does this work? I can't figure out how to make it not so… baggy."

"Hit the spider."

"Hit… the spider?"

"Yeah. In the middle?"

She groaned and opened the door.

I had to shove down the laughter rising in my throat. She was in the suit and holding it up by the collar, clutching it to her chest. That was the first time I realized how short she is. I would notice it a lot more after this whenever she stood next to me, Ned, or better yet, MJ. Y/N is short enough to wear the suit and practically swim in it.

At that moment, Y/N was helpless.

"'Hit the spider.' Really? What does that even mean?"

Her confusion was amusing, but how could she not see the black spider symbol right under her hand?

"Ignoring how ridiculous you look, which, by the way, is off the charts ridiculous, it means," I said, stepping forward. "Hit. The. Spider."

I lightly punched the spider symbol, as if it was a fist bump.

Probably a stupid idea, seeing as it was situated sort of… right between her, um, breasts?

Makes sense that she screamed a bit.

"Jesus! Are you serious? More of a warning would have been nice!"

The suit can be shocking if you aren't used to it snapping like that. I've gotta admit, I was not used to it snapping on her. On me, yeah. Of course. But on her… not at all. Luckily she was too engrossed in the suit to have noticed my expression. I remember thinking, it definitely doesn't look so ridiculous on you anymore.

"Oh my God," she muttered, looking at her arms as she turned them here and there. "This is so weird."

She moved her shoulders a bit as if testing mobility, then her fingers, toes, legs.

"This is… the weirdest sensation. I can't tell if I hate it or if I love it."

Actually, that's probably the best way to describe how I've been feeling since then.

That night, we never ended up going to the party. Y/N called Ned to explain that she didn't have a costume and he immediately said it was alright if we didn't make it. Something about, "MJ is already enough to handle at the moment."

Instead, we stayed in and watched Lord of the Rings while Y/N kept experimenting with the suit. Testing different web shooters (she nearly destroyed my closet), watching Spider-Man Youtube videos in the mask and mocking my "poses" (for the record, I do not pose… as often as those videos suggest), and talking to Karen (they got on immediately). Once she started asking Karen personal questions, like her first one about me: "What does Peter talk to you about every day?" I decided it was time to end her Spider Time.

(Yes, I was worried Karen would tell her how often I talked about her - but to be fair, she is my friend. Obviously I talk to Karen about her a lot. I just couldn't figure out why it was more than Ned or Aunt May or MJ. And Karen had plenty of ideas I knew she would love to tell Y/N about.)

"That's enough! Karen, say goodbye now!" I hurried.

"Really, Peter? We just started a real conversation. You didn't tell me the system was a person! I've been so rude - I'm so sorry, Karen, if I had known-"

"Come on," I begged. "I'm being serious. I don't want the suit to be a thing with everyone. Better to stop now, before you get… attached."

"Attached?" The left eye of the mask widened to match her sarcasm. "Worried I'll steal it and hide in a cave, stroking the fabric? My precious Spidey suit?"

"Very funny," I said. "And you just said, 'My,' so clearly, you are being affected!"

I reached across, about to hit the spider, when I realized exactly what the suit would do if I did, and pulled back.

Not a good time to accidentally see her naked.

I swear, I didn't mean to think that. But that idea - of one of my best friends, that way, in my room - took me off guard. Like a massive idiot, I jerked back too quickly. My ankle hit hers and she fell on top of me, simultaneously hitting the spider and setting off a series of awkward movements in which she tried to hold the suit together and I tried not to, well, see too much. (I saw a tiny bit, not going to lie.)

On the t.v., the Watcher in the Water began attacking Frodo, so the chaos of fiction and real life blended together in the worst way possible. The screaming from the movie made our own awkward grunts and "Sorry!"'s more intimate by contrast. Mostly it was just weird because she was practically drowning in the deflated Spider suit and as we moved against each other, trying to get off of each other, it wasn't much of a barrier between us. Plus, the baggy mask on her face was a weird addition to the situation.

After untangling herself from me, she stood up gingerly and pulled the mask off. Her hair was a nest, a soft I-wish-I-could-reach-out-and-feel-it-moving-through-my-fingers kind of nest.

"D-do you mind if I change now?"

My mouth gaped. Here? Now?

"I mean, if I have to call May to escort you out, I do have her on speed dial."

Without me here. Duh.

"Yeah. S-sorry. I'll just, um, get up then."

I must have looked like an idiot, staring at her from the flat of my back on the floor, practically spread eagle. Sliding past her to the door, I swear I noticed blush on her cheeks. Then again, my own face was burning. But then again, that was because I realized I liked her. Like really, really liked her. So maybe her blush meant she liked me too?

That was Halloween.

Six months later, that memory plays back almost every day. On top of six months worth of other memories. She's there, in my head, all the time. Simple things, like her ridiculous victory dance when she wins Scrabble or her helping Aunt May make dinner (and when it comes to food, she helps a lot - in terms of taste and frequency) or even Karen telling me that she sent me a text, they all make my chest hammer. It's the absolute worst, all variables considered.

I don't know. This week has been weird. Seeing her so excited reminds me of how she looked trying on the suit which reminds me of everything else from that night and how I've never worked up the courage to just ask if it meant anything. Knowing that it's way, way too late to ask now makes me a bundle of nerves and serious regret. Plus, her unguarded joy and enthusiasm itself…. It's a lot to take in. Sensory overload or something. It's like, I catch a glimpse of her teeth as she's laughing and my brain spirals into One Hundred and One Ways I Could Make Her Laugh If She Was In Love With Me Instead or Ten Kissing Scenarios In Which She's So Happy We Can't Kiss Properly Because We're Smiling Too Much. This week, these imaginary scenes keep getting out of control. It's driving me nuts.

I need to stop thinking about her. It's impossible when we're always together, though. All of us. I can't tell which is worse: when it's just us, or when it's us and MJ. And Ned, obviously.

So the last few days, I tried to keep a smidge of distance. Yesterday was particularly rough. Ned and MJ convinced her to skip a bunch of classes with them. They sent me dozens of snapchats, half trying to rope me in, half reporting on their adventures. (My favorite was when they nicknamed Flash an Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy. Or maybe it was the video of Ned where he dissolved into a fit of laughter because he couldn't say the phrase more than twice without messing it up.)

At the end of the day, because we all have Psych in seventh hour, I may have annoyed them by leaving that class early. I couldn't help it. Y/N was so stupid crazy beautiful happy and it was agonizing to watch her scribble notes back and forth with MJ, her pen clicking in the almost dark as she did everything she could to not laugh and disrupt the episode of Mind Games playing on the screen. I had to get out of there before I got, like, a boner or something.

That was weird. And graphic.

God, it's such a mess. I'm such a mess.

The point is, I need to stop thinking about her like that and just forget what happened yesterday and this morning and six months ago.

That being said, it's not exactly easy when she's been pissing me off the last few days. This stuff with MJ and Flash is starting to seriously eat away at me. Some of it isn't her fault, and I'm trying to work through that on my own, but plenty of it is and I can't tell if she even cares how I (or Ned) feel about it.

I hate these secrets.


	6. Chapter 6

Halfway through unpacking my things, I realize Michelle is right. I have to talk to Peter. Now. Especially if the pool is still a plan for tonight.

When I tell Michelle so, she nods but doesn't look up from her book. (She mentioned it a minute ago and promised to lend it to me when she finished; consequently, the moment she dug it out, she decided to put off unpacking and read instead.) I toss my bag on my bed and go to the hallway.

I knock on the boys' door.

Ned answers.

"Hey Y/N. Wow, I haven't seen you in a whole-" he looks at his watch, "seven minutes!"

"Can I have a quick minute with Peter?" I ask.

"Are you really asking me to step out of my own room?"

"You can get on my laptop and message Betty from my Facebook. Ask what she's up to. Maybe mention yourself, see what she says?"

"What, why wou- I don't- can't you just- I mean, honestly."

"I put the little knob thingy in the door, so it's open if you want to go do that."

Ned considers the idea.

"Actually, that's a violation of trust. Not cool. But I will go chill in your room. I need to talk to MJ anyway."

Talk to MJ without me?

"Wait, why?"

"Um, there's just… a thing. Anyway. Yeah. Hey, Peter!" Ned opens the door all the way and shouts behind his shoulder. "The stripper's here!"

"The what?" I ask, bewildered. "Why-why would you say that?"

Ned shakes his head, hands open.

"Dude, I don't know! I just- I need to go! Bye!"

Ned shoves me out of his way and into the room.

"Ned, the what?" Peter says, jumping into frame from their bathroom.

God, my face must be red.

"I'm a stripper now?"

"You're a- you're a what, now?"

Peter's eyebrows nearly graze his hairline. My face is definitely warm.

"Nothing. Ned was just being really… weird. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

I close the door and walk over to Ned's bed, thinking Peter will sit across from me on his. He doesn't. He stays, standing next to their closet.

"About this morning. With Flash. Do you want me to… say anything, to Mr. Harrington?"

"Wh- no, no, definitely not. It's nothing. I- I don't even know why you're bringing it up. It's not like he can hurt me, obviously."

"Physically, I know, I just mean that you shouldn-"

"Can we just forget about it?"

"Absolutely, if that's what you want. And last night, with dinner-"

"And maybe that too? I was a dick. I'm really sorry. I kind of feel like I almost ruined your night and that would have been awful because I know you were excited."

You were excited too, remember?

"It's fine. Is everything okay with you though? The last few days were… odd."

He runs his hands through his hair and clasps them behind his head. He makes a face like he's trying to remember if he's had any minor inconveniences recently. He avoids eye contact.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's, ah, everything is… normal."

Everything is not normal, Peter.

"Peter, I…." I want to say that I don't believe him, that he shouldn't have to put up with how Flash treats him. I want to say that he can talk to me. "I'll go back to my room. You probably have more to unpack."

I start to get up.

"Eh, not really."

I pause. Does he want me to stay? Is he going to tell me why he's been so an-arm's-length-away this week?

"But if, um, you could tell Ned that I wanna talk to him, I'd appreciate it."

He half-smiles.

"Tomorrow, I'm either going to hug him or kill him."

It's tomorrow and I'm leaning toward kill. Killing all of my friends. What does everyone need to talk about without me?

But that won't get Peter (or anyone) to talk to me about whatever's bothering him (or them).

So I end up doing a stupid thing. As I pass Peter on my way to leave, I turn around, pivoting on my heels like a robot programmed for a sharp corner, and I hug him. I just latch on like a parasite. It's a pretty tight hug. Especially for two people who don't hug a lot. Or ever. Except when May made us this morning.

He smells so good. I know from half-living at his apartment that it's Old Spice deodorant, but that doesn't stop me from thinking how much I associate it with the word home (or from thinking how awkward that thought is in the first place). Peter and home remind me of warmth and comfort and fireplaces and being okay.

Last night he was close enough to kiss me, then with the way he looked at me before I rambled about the dirt, and now this. I'm self-sabotaging my Stop Thinking About Peter mission.

He jerks back at first, but after a second he's almost leaning into it. His hands are cautiously, sort of, patting my back. Oh, fuck me. I had to make this weirder. Why not make it worse? I squeeze him harder. It's meant as a "You're my friend and I love you more than you realize, so please, please, please, trust me - talk to me" squeeze. I'm not sure it comes through, since he doesn't do it back. Or move at all. He clearly wants it over with.

Thoroughly embarrassed, I pull away and beeline to the door. Neither of us say a word.

Oh my god. I… I don't know why I did that.

During the ten seconds I stand in the hallway between our two doors with my hands on my head thinking about how stupid I am, I decide not to tell Ned or Michelle about this awkward hug. If they ask me about it later, then I'll know Peter is willing to talk to them and not me… or that they really are all communicating without me and it's not just my paranoia. Then… I'll just need to figure out why.

Maybe they're sick of you.

Or maybe you're overreacting.

Ten seconds up, I turn quickly to push my door open.

It's locked. My key card is sitting on my bed, next to my bag.

"MJ?" I call, knocking. "Ned? Can you guys let me in?"

Nothing. I press my ear against the door. They're definitely having a conversation.

"Guys, seriously. Please let me in."

I really don't want Peter to hear this and open his door right now.

Ned answers, his voice a bit distant.

"Just hold on a second! I need a minute with MJ."

"It's been a minute! It's been like five minutes!"

"Only three, dude."

I jiggle the door handle and bang my head against the door.

"Let me in, please."

I stay silent a moment and hear a phone dialing somewhere past the door. Seriously? Are they calling Peter now? When did my friends become such secret-keepers? (I know, I know. That's rhetorical.)

I press my ear to the door. All I can hear is a muffled cloud of hushed conversation. Whatever is going on, I know Ned and Michelle well enough to know that I could be out here for a while, so I sit.

A door opens.

But it's not mine and it's not Peter's. It's at the opposite end of the hall.

Flash.

No, no, no, no, no. Not right now.

I'm too lost with this new, weird exclusion dynamic at the moment. I'm not going to let Flash anger me. So when I scramble and jump up, I try a knock on Peter's door.

"Hey, Y/N!" Flash shouts.

Open the door, open the door, open the door.

Thank God, the door opens.

It's only slightly ajar, but I can see Peter with a phone up to his ear.

"Hey, um, I've got a call."

The door closes.

Fuck.

* * *

Needless to say, Flash had the opportunity to get at me, and he did. For the whole seven minutes I was locked out, he had a lot of observations to make. Mostly, "Oh my God, are you locked out of your own room? And isn't that Ned and Peter's room? They won't let you in either? Ha! That's a weird place to be, huh? They've seemed really secretive around you lately. Lots of texting and side conversations when you're not around. Then that dinner thing where you're Silent Sally the whole time. Hey, why's Penis Parker so mad at you, huh? You've looked like such a lost dog the last couple days. You know, the kind whose owners dropped it off in the middle of a road, but it doesn't get the hint and keeps searching for them?"

Rule #1 of being anywhere in Flash's vicinity: Never listen to Flash.

If I had to choose between my three best friends and Flash, I would always choose my friends. No matter the circumstances. No matter the repercussions. I just don't get why Flash's regularly shitty behavior is somehow reassuring. At least I know what to expect.


	7. Chapter 7

I often expect too much, set my sights a little too high. I know this, so I always prepare myself in case nothing goes according to plan.

For example: I had hoped this second annual break-into-the-hotel-pool activity would be easy, that everyone would come willingly, and we would have fun before the tournament tomorrow. Still, I prepared myself for a few bumps. For example, if Peter refused, if the entire thing flopped because everyone was worried about getting enough sleep, or if someone in the hotel caught us and reported it to Mr. Harrington, I was prepared.

Strangely enough, everyone crept out on time and Peter barely hesitated at all. Well, Michelle did force him from the start and head off his first protest too quickly for him to find another: "Dude, just say you've been working out. Nobody's going to get suspicious because you're jacked. Even Flash can't turn that," she motioned to Peter's entire body, "into a joke."

Yet I'm more uneasy now than if everything had gone wrong. I'm not even concerned about getting caught. Mr. Harrington is watching Jurassic Park in his room and checking the hallway at ten-minute intervals and I'm almost certain the hotel staff knows we're here, but doesn't care.

Nevertheless, I'm just… anxious.

It might have to do with how the boys are stacked upon one another in the shallow end for Chicken and, given the small area of the pool, injuries are on the table. It might have to do with Flash's new habit of winking at me and being, in general, maddeningly obnoxious. It might also have to do with the fact that my friends are being abnormally secretive. (I hate to use Flash's words, but he's sort of right. It's the best description. Even once I got back in my room, MJ and Ned kept sending texts - I have no idea who to, though I would guess between them and Peter.)

Admittedly, my nerves might also be connected to Liz, whose face I can see across the water. As our Captain, Michelle thought it would be nice to Facetime her, ask about college, and show her that her pool idea has become a tradition.

Liz's dorm room is beautiful, from what I can make out. She has calendars and planners neatly pinned up with Christmas lights to outline them. Photos hang from mini clothespins on a string and she even has a little library set up on her windowsill with a porcelain cat-shaped bookend. It's like a freaking Pinterest photo. I've always been somewhat jealous of her, but I know that outside of some old disagreement and my envy for her style and Peter's (old? current?) crush on her, I am glad she seems happy. Everyone knows how much she's been going through.

As Abe and Peter pretend to duke it out on Flash and Ned's shoulders, the light of Liz from Michelle's phone skips through the ripples, illuminating them just so. I keep zoning out and staring at the pattern. I feel weird staying on the other side of the pool with her there, but I don't know Liz that well outside of the team and truth be told, she always intimidated me. She just… has things together. Even now. She's wonderful and precise and good in every way a person can be. I feel minuscule by comparison.

Then again, it might be the overwhelming smell of chlorine that's getting into my head and putting me off. Plus, all the glints of light swimming across the glass walls - making them reflect further like a hall of mirrors - are beginning to strain my eyes. Part of me just wants to sleep. To climb out from the water, change into some pajamas, and go to bed and forget this.

But I can't. So I tread water alone in the corner, watching and listening and feeling like an idiot for isolating myself.

Does anyone want you here in the first place?

Stop thinking like that.

I try to listen to Liz's voice as a distraction. It's muffled with echo, but it's audible.

"With my AP scores, a bunch of my gen ed credits are already taken care of. But I want to take my other gen eds seriously. I have Global Ethics, Statistics, and World Journalism on Mondays and Wednesdays, then Into to Biological Chemistry and Public Relations on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

The words bounce from wall to wall, shadowing splashes and voices and little bright doses of laughter from the boys. I close my eyes for three seconds as if to catalog the moment. I have to admit, it's pretty much perfect.

Then why do I feel so nervous?

In the same way that some days just feel so good, some nights just really, reallydon't.

Flash catches my eye. God, here we go. He's smirking.

"Hey!" he calls. "Y/N, you should join in! Hold on, let me clear you a spot."

He jerks his body back to make Abe fall from his shoulders, hitting the water with a hard splash.

"There, now you have a place to sit," Flash says, patting his own shoulders.

Abe stands up, shaking water from his ears before shoving Flash underwater. Ned laughs as Flash comes back up sputtering. Peter, on Ned's shoulders, has little reaction. Michelle rolls her eyes and turns back to the girls' conversation.

"It's more fun watching, trust me." Watching Peter shirtless, my brain adds.

Stop thinking about him. Despite his smile this morning (it was idiotic of me to think it meant anything significant), Peter has remained pretty cold to me today. Just like everyone else.

Michelle looks back our way again.

"Y/N and I will play," she decides.

If I had more energy, if I weren't feeling so despondent, and if it wasn't her this-is-happening-don't-argue voice, I might put up a better fight. Instead, I give a quiet defeated groan and make my way over to the shallow end. Most times it's easier to do as she says.

"Michelle in a chicken fight?" Liz laughs, her voice reverberating on all sides of my head. "I can't wait to see this."

"Oh, no," Michelle answers as she shakes her head. "Y/N is up top. I'm not getting involved in that business."

I sigh.

"Abe, mind if I fight Flash this round?" I ask.

If I have to do this, I want to be against the one person I wouldn't mind actually fighting.

"I think I'll sit this one out," Abe says. "I'm sick of him. Plus, if he has the chance, I know he'll piss on me."

Despite my exhaustion, I can't help laughing a little. It's definitely true. But if Abe sits out, there's no chance that Ned or Peter will team up with Flash.

Flash knows this too. Shrugging, he follows Abe away from the center, saying hello to Liz.

Shit.

I climb onto Michelle's shoulders, the air making me shiver, my ankles hanging just low enough to stay in the warm water. I stare blankly at the situation. It's me and Michelle, Peter and Ned. And I've barely spoken to them since they all locked me out earlier. I wouldn't want to disrupt their texting.

I do my best not to tug Michelle's hair as I steady myself.

Now what?

Everybody else is talking again, Liz included. I'm glad their attention is elsewhere.

Staring at Peter, who's staring at me, it's clear neither of us knows what to do. Things have definitely gotten stale and weird between us over the last day, and weirder still over the last few hours. I feel like an idiot. But I'd be a moron to think it's all because of that stupid hug. Something in our friendship is stuttering, I can feel it faltering and falling away.

Abruptly unstable ground - that's what it is, I realize, looking at him. And everybody has been able to see it coming but me. How else could Flash see it?

Thinking of all the shitty ways Peter has ignored me today, yesterday, and this past week, I shove him with as much force as I can muster, knowing it'll be nothing to him anyway.

Peter's legs are over his head a moment later. If it were a real fall, it would have been instant. The rippling disturbance of the water churns up more chlorine fumes. I can feel a headache germinating at the base of my skull.

"Come on, Peter," I say while he stands and pushes wet hair out of his eyes. "Don't pretend to let me win."

"You caught me off guard," he says. All of the prior playful attitude he had with Abe is gone. He's trying - I can actually see him trying - to seem blank.

What is his problem with me?

"No, I didn't. Don't lie. Get back up."

He does. Ned's expression is unreadable for once. Michelle pats my leg.

Ned and Michelle actually move around this time, both stepping to one side or the other with half steps back and forward. Peter keeps his hands on his knees, looking bored and glancing from MJ to her phone behind us. He won't even look at me.

It pisses me off.

Michelle rolls one shoulder before lunging forward - a little hint. I shove Peter again, now resenting how stiff his muscles are beneath his stupid skin. And again he falls sideways, though faster this time.

Flash is whooping and making some stupid comment. Liz gives a surprised, "Oh, wow." Sally and Cindy are talking, but I can't tell whether it's to me or someone else. Peter's splash is echoing too much to hear a lot at the moment.

He stands up. His hands go to his hair. He looks at me and shrugs like Got me again, I guess.

The chlorine scent is hanging heavily over the room now like a pillow being slowly forced into my face. My headache pulses and creeps up behind my ear, beating my bone like a thick drum.

"Peter," I say, teeth grinding, "this is going to get boring pretty quickly if you keep this up. Push back. Don't you dare 'let me win.' I'm serious."

My jaw is clenching as I try to pack my anger down into a little box between my ribs. A pressurized numbness climbs up my throat.

Shove it down.

Peter says nothing in reply but mounts Ned's shoulders again. Ned is looking at Michelle, and though I can't see her face, I know they're having a silent conversation.

I nudge Michelle with my heel and she lunges forward again. I shove Peter's left shoulder as hard as I can. Both shoulders hit the water at the same time. I know that no matter how hard I could ever hit him, it wouldn't bother him a bit, yet the fact he's clearly not even trying to play this one game that he was just playing with Flash and Abe is burning and biting at my tongue.

Peter stands lazily as if silently offering a forfeit.

Maybe he wants to get this game over with so he can talk to Liz.

"Get up, Peter," I say as frustration spreads like fire through the ligaments of my arms. My irritation has reached my hairline.

Last week, I would never have doubted my friendship with Peter. Suddenly, I'm almost certain he wants nothing to do with me anymore. It scares me. A familiar dense pain pools in my lungs, a physical weight knocking my ribs into one another.

How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Peter doesn't move. I could kill him.

"Peter! Get up! Fight back, do something! This isn't funny anymore. Why won't you just do something?"

At last, he looks me straight in the eye.

"What?" he shoots back. "What do you want me to do?"

He's angry now too, blatantly. It's worse than last night. I can see it, a red patch of irritation growing from his chest up to his neck. Neither of us has ever gotten like this. We're not the kind of people who do. Not with one another, and certainly not in front of other people.

It's a violently refreshing change: honesty.

"Anything! Stop messing around," I say. "Just play the fucking game."

"Maybe I'm sick of it," he says, his hands open. "This whole stupid idea! I'm not playing anymore."

What is he talking about? It's been barely a minute of this game.

"MJ," I say, "let me down."

"Alright."

She jerks back like Flash did to Abe. The water stings through my nostrils and the lining of my lungs. Is this just MJ being MJ or is she angry at me, too? And what about Ned, could he be mad at me?

What have they all been calling and texting each other about?

I wipe water from my face and open my eyes, stinging.

"Come on, Peter, play a game," I mock, moving closer to him. He just standsthere. "Play a game."

I've been playing some sort of game for at least 24 hours now, maybe over a week, maybe even longer. He can too.

Peter doesn't move a millimeter. I shove him. Nothing. His expression remains blank. He doesn't fall, he doesn't budge.

"Peter!"

I shove him again.

Nothing.

Michelle and Ned are creeping out of the water. Their waves are the only sound besides my echoing shout in the whole room. God, this is bad. I know starting some kind of fight isn't going to increase my chances of leaving D.C. with any friends, but I almost can't stop myself. I have to do something.

I move closer, face burning with an itch of fury.

"What?" he says.

Michelle and Ned, blurry reflections I can see from the glass wall behind Peter, have grabbed their towels and are walking through the door.

Damn it. Where are they going?

Something is crushing inside my chest. I can feel my eyes brimming with tears.

Shove. Them. Down. I will not angry cry in front of my classmates right now. Absolutely not. Especially not with Flash and Liz here.

My hands start shaking instead as I grapple for a reply.

"Just- just do something, Peter!"

The muscles in his jaw are working and pulsing. I wonder what words he's chewing - of course, I'll likely never know because it seems Peter is refusing to tell me anything.

"That's just it!" he shouts back. "What do you want me to do?!"

That something in my chest is spasming, collapsing.

Peter's chest is heaving and the red has reached his face. His words are fogging up my already pounding head.

That's just it. What do you want me to do?

There are too many people here and as I notice their reflections standing over Peter's shoulders with eyes glued to his face and my back, I realize I've just lost them too. In only the span of a couple minutes. The understanding hits me over the head and slices through my gut. I've ruined everything with everyone here, not just Peter and Ned and Michelle. They've never seen me like this and it's too late to pretend to reverse it. There's no way I'll leave this trip with any friends.

It takes every particle of concentration to not let my emotions get the better of me and cry; especially when I'm still staring at Peter. The brown of his eyes seems darker than I've ever seen before and his brow is knotted up, hard.

The moment is so still and static.

Without warning, Peter smacks the water in front of me with one hand. It's like a lukewarm tidal wave washing over my head, tangling my hair across my face.

My nose and lungs burn again. I gasped at the wrong second. In less than a moment though, it's doused my nerves. I suddenly feel smaller than a child, humiliated.

"Are you kidding?"

I don't know if he or anyone hears me. The question was quiet and overcome by countless echoing splashes. It's for the best: nobody can see my chin shaking at this distance so maybe if they didn't hear the crack in my voice, I can pull myself together.

Guilt and regret seep into my skin as Peter climbs out of the pool. I want to apologize, but apologize for what? And fear, fear is mixing with those other emotions. A mountain of blurred emotions coated in black dread and red fear.

I take a breath and turn around.

Fuck.

Cindy, Sally, Abe, and Flash are just… staring. Worse, Liz is too. Of course, Michelle forgets her phone this one time.

The door closes with a bang behind Peter.

His towel is slung over one shoulder and water droplets spatter across the hallway floor as he storms through it. If I could get over him, if I could stop thinking about him for one day, stop thinking about him for one minute, my heart rate wouldn't be leaping off the charts as I watch him. Actually, my heart rate might just be a result of me realizing how serious this is. The fact that four faces are still staring, now waiting for me to explode, likely doesn't help slow it down either.

"Guys," Liz's voice calls. "Come on. Don't make this weird."

Flash laughs. Hard.

"It's super weird completely on its own! Man, what was that?"

Tension loosening its hold on the room, Flash is back to himself, looking astonished and amused beyond belief.

"Flash, seriously. Let it be," Liz snaps at him. When she looks at me, her expression softens. "Don't let Peter Parker get in your head. He can… be like that sometimes. He might just be going through something."

I know what he's like, I think. I've been friends with him for longer than one Homecoming date. Liz is trying, at least, and I do appreciate the thought.

"Yeah," I say, nodding.

She mirrors the motion.

"I should go before my roommate gets back to study. And Y/N, if you ever want to talk, I'd like to hear from you again. From any of you guys. Anyway, good luck everyone! I'm sure tomorrow will be great."

The room dissolves into Goodbye!'s. I use the distraction to get my towel and phone and slip out.

What have I done?


End file.
